


Did You Love Me?

by Al_Blue



Category: Actor RPF, Hannibal (TV) RPF, King Arthur (2004) RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dirty Talk, Everyone's Single, Fluff, M/M, Porn, Public Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_Blue/pseuds/Al_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em> Sometimes, one wonders how someone so perfect became an ex. </em><br/>Alternate Universe, post "Buffet Froid" soul fluff and angst for the actors. With some porn in Chapter 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [你爱过我吗？](https://archiveofourown.org/works/874990) by [MrKakuya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrKakuya/pseuds/MrKakuya)
  * Translation into 한국어 available: [Did You Love Me?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694526) by [allison3939](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allison3939/pseuds/allison3939)



> The author regrets everything.  
> The author does not own anything, except imagination.  
> The author needed fluff after reading Mr. Fuller's tweet re. pez prosthetics.  
> The author welcomes all constructive criticism.  
> Also, the author loves to speak in third person.

_Present_

“I just - I need - I’m sorry.  I’m really sorry. I just - I’ll be right back.” Hugh forces himself to breathe, pulling his shoulders back so he can get some cold air into his lungs away from the set. His chest prickles with pain and he’s dizzy from trying too hard to draw breaths.

“Hey-”

A warm hand on his back, he turns and leans into the soft cotton of Mads’s shirt.

Mads says something else, in either English or Danish, and kisses Hugh’s temple soothingly.

He changed, Hugh notices, from the posh, tailored blue suit to an old cotton t-shirt, and from smelling like Hannibal’s deep, expensive cologne to something more like soap and warm skin, which, ridiculously, is actually more intoxicating.

Not for the first time, Hugh closes his eyes and wonders whether he and Mads had split up for the wrong reasons.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Mads. It was just, that Hugh was supposed to end up with a nice English girl and settle down like his parents. Mads isn’t a nice English girl.

\------

_10 Years Ago_

“Where are you going?” a voice asks, sleep rough. Warm fingertips trailing on his back as Hugh sits on the edge of the freezing cold bed.

“I need to put some clothes on, you weirdo. I’m freezing my toes off.” Hugh complains and bats at the wondering hand.

“Well,” a warm body slithers up behind him, “I was hoping to keep you warm, you see.”

“You are not doing a very good job then.” A kiss is pressed onto the back of Hugh’s neck. He shivers and takes in a sharp breath. “It’s fucking cold.”

Mads just hums and presses open mouth kisses to his neck and right shoulder blade, hands running up his sides.

Life really isn’t fair, Hugh shivers some more, less to do with the cold this time.

He turns around enough to meet Mads’s eyes for a breathtaking second before meeting his lips and pushing him back into the freezing cold bed and tumbling in with him.

Hugh didn’t muster enough energy to put on any clothes that entire day.

\------

_Present_

“That’s a strange prosthetic, isn’t it? They’ve done a great job.”

“I’m okay.”

Mads pulls back enough from the embrace to look at him in the eyes, “Hugh.”  

Most actors can’t help but experience character bleed sometimes, but Hugh would wake himself up in tears in the middle of the night, still suffering from a character’s life.

“That’s just a prosthetic on a crash test dummy, he’s not real.”

Hugh chuckles, “yeah, I know.”  

“Look at me.”

“No, you are too beautiful.”

“Hugh.”

Tired blue eyes meet Mads’s, and he wishes he can kiss the exhaustion away.

There was once, years ago, when Mads was allowed to do that. Though, he was never sure whether Hugh had welcomed those kisses, whether they meant anything to him like they meant something for Mads.

\------

_10 Years Ago_

“What is this supposed to do?”

“Trust and compatibility exercise.”

“Really. For what?”

“For the stage.” Hugh laughs.

“Really.” Mads stares straight into Hugh’s eyes, which really are beautiful. And they blinked slowly, unguarded.

They are both dressed and standing a hand’s length away from each other in Mads’s kitchen, and doing some kind of blasted slow sexual torture exercise, which Hugh insists is a proper acting exercise and they must do them before running lines.

Their arms bend and move beside them in unison, untouching. And Mads can feel the warmth of the other man, can smell his soft leathery heat, “You do this with people you _don’t_ sleep with?”

“Well, us Brit’s acting scene is scandalously incestuous.”

“Oh you dirty bastards.” He knows Hugh is joking but he’s more jealous than he should be. In a smooth move, Mads grasps both of Hugh’s wrists and pins his arms behind him.

But it wasn’t the right thing to do, because Hugh’s eyes suddenly blink into sharpness and he yanks his wrists out from the hold and stumbles back.

Mads lets him go, he’s gone too far.

It’s just, with the way Hugh usually keens and melts under the harsher kisses, Mads supposed he would like to surrender and be taken care of. But maybe he’s got it wrong. This thing between them is barely two weeks old after all.

“I don’t - I don’t like to be held down.” Hugh shrugs and rubs his arms as if he's cold.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry - ” Mads fears Hugh would turn and leave, so he reaches out a hand, to stop him, but the hand hesitates, afraid of pushing Hugh further away, “we don’t have to-“

Before he apologizes more and begs, the coldness in Hugh is gone, as sudden as it appeared. And he steps back into Mads’s personal space, and kisses him, lips, jaw, neck, and a small nip on the earlobe, “we can do whatever you want. Just no blind folds or handcuffs for me. Is that okay?”

So Mads groans and nods and lets Hugh push them into the bedroom, where Hugh strips him and rides him until they are both too exhausted to run lines.

\------

_Present, later in the day_

“My therapist says I’ve been living with my emotions backwards.” Hugh says, and nonchalantly licks at the chocolate batter covered spatula, putting the cake into the oven.

“And how does that make you feel?”

Hugh throws him a look between amused and annoyed, “don’t do that, it’s creepy. We are cooking.”

“Fine.” Mads laughs, nudging him out of the way to retrieve a plate, “so, what brought on this insight?”

“We were talking over why Claire and I split up and why… you and I split up.”

“You were busy, we lived too far apart. It wasn’t feasible.”

They have been friends for 10 years since they split up. Mads takes in a deep breath and reminds himself that whatever he feels is only a phantom heartache, “You and Claire broke up for different reasons.”

Hugh puts the mixing bowl and spatula in the sink, and runs water over them.

“Did you love me?”

Mads fumbles with his glass of wine and drops it, spilling deep red liquid onto the dark granite floor, “Hugh.”

“Did you love me?”

Mads steps back and bumps into the island behind him, “...you didn’t love _me_.”

Hugh looks down finally and thoughtfully,  “No. No I suppose I didn’t-”

Mads braces against counter and forces his lungs to breathe, he can't cry about this again. He’s too old for this. He needs a cigarette and a stronger drink.

Hugh looks up again, “because I was afraid to let go, that if I did - if I did, I would fall in love with you, someone I never expected to want."

He pauses. His eyes shine and his lips soft under the lights, "But I - I did. I still do."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Inspiration refused to acknowledge that the author has a test tomorrow, and decided to strike the author across the face hard enough that the author saw stars. In the author's fuzzy, deluded state, Inspiration licked tenderly and harshly at the author's ficcing brain until the author's arms twitched enough that these sentences spilled onto the pages through the author’s fingertips.
> 
> Again, the author regrets everything, does not own anything, except imagination (well, also some expensive perfume and a shitload of black blazers), and needed fluff, angst and porn after the latest traumatic (and disturbingly romantic?) Hannibal episode, Rôti.

_\------_

_10 Years Ago_

“We should get out of here.” Hugh tilts his head back, exposing more of his neck as he guides one of Mads’s hands below his belt, and presses it against his erection.

Mads rubs his free hand up Hugh’s shirt and scratches not so lightly over his stomach and chest, yanking him even closer, “Or we just fuck here.”

“Aaa - ha – " Hugh exhales sharply in a laugh and moans, one hand digging into Mads’s arm and the other presses harder on the one kneading his cock through his trousers, “right here?”

There’s nowhere else where Mads would rather be right now. He’s leaning against the wall, in the club’s darkness and thumping music, with Hugh’s back pressed flushed against him.

Mads licks the shell of an ear and scrapes its tender skin with his teeth, “Imagine you can sit on my cock now.”

“Ugh – " Hugh keens and arches his back, grinding down against Mads’s like he wants nothing more than to fuck himself on Mads’s cock right fucking now.

“Imagine how much it would hurt.” Mads curls his fingers and grazes Hugh’s taut nipples.

“And imagine how hard you would come from it, all over both of our hands.”

“Mads – oh god. Yes.”

Mads squeezes Hugh’s cock through his trousers again and feels pre-cum’s wetness soaking through the material.

“And everyone will know,” he licks a line up the exposed throat and savours at the insanity of the moment, “how much we couldn’t fucking wait.”

Mads is 37 years old, but somehow, this person, _colleague_ , who he barely knows, drives him so out of control, that he wants nothing but to rip off both their clothes right fucking now so he can lick the sweet sweat on Hugh’s chest. And fuck him on the filthy club floor hard enough that they’ll both be too sore to get up the next day, right this fucking second, in front of a bunch of drunken 18 year olds.

“Fuck-” Hugh’s breath is harsh and his eyes open just enough catch Mads’s, “Fuck, I want you so much - ”

Hugh’s eyes are truly stunning, Mads thinks, especially when they are framed in sweat matted lashes that glitter under the strobing lights.

In a desperate jolt of possessiveness, Mads spins them around and presses Hugh back to the wall with his body, wishing to hide the beautifully agonizing way the other man is coming undone.

Hugh just pushes back and moans and hooks a leg around Mads’s waist, grinding their erections together.

Mads crashes their lips together to swallow his own moans, but had to let go of those lips to concentrate on making quick work of Hugh’s zippers, thanking whatever fashions gods for making loose trousers, and closes his fist around Hugh’s smooth cock, and tugs.

“Oh god – "

Hugh’s fingers dig painfully into Mads's shoulder blades, they must be drawing blood, but the throbbing just drove him on.

“Fuck – Mads. Yes – oh god. Harder – "

\------

_Present_

Hugh opens the door to Mads, hair loose and dressed in another old t-shirt, bearing an unfrosted chocolate cake.

“You know when I say I’d put out for cake…”

“You don’t mean it?” Mads leans all too casually against the door frame and quirks his eyebrows in exaggerated mock surprise.

“Not for you.” Hugh does not smile when he says that, not even a little bit, because fuck every well-adjusted adult who can just _be friends_ with their exes.

Hugh hopes he sounded biting as he steps back to let the other man inside.

If Mads has a sarcastic comeback, he held his tongue.

“I managed to turn off the oven on time last night. Since you technically made it, I thought I’d share.” He looks down to concentrate on putting the cake on the dinner table before continuing softly, “And…I thought I should check up on you.”

“I’m fine.” Hugh wonders whether he should ask Mads to leave.

“Hugh -"

Or maybe Hugh can leave, it’s his own apartment but still. “I know I ran out of your place last night – but, just, I don’t know, I just really don't fancy hearing another rejection now.”

“It wasn’t a rejection – "

“Well, I don’t think ‘ _I don’t think it’s a good idea_ ’ has another meaning.” Hugh crosses his arms across his chest and silently curses the Toronto winter for being so damned cold.

“I meant for now,” Mads crosses the room and places his hands on Hugh’s crossed arms, “you are barely divorced, and we are suddenly working in close proximity again.”

Hugh closes his eyes, because if he pretends hard enough, maybe he can imagine Mads away, and everything would be easier to deal with.

“Hugh, please.” Mads’s voice is quiet and pleading.

Hugh has never been particularly good at saying no to that voice.

“You asked, whether I loved you.” Mads's features look soft and open, such a contrast from the character Hugh sees when they are on set, “And the answer is yes. I did. And I still do.”

“But –"

“But I need you to be sure.” Mads pauses to run his hands up and down Hugh’s arms, “You are playing an extremely vulnerable and lonely character, and I need you to be sure it’s not just a comforting and familiar presence that you want.”

Hugh knocks the hands off in protest, “I don’t want you because it’s convenient, Mads.”

“I know.” Mads looks down again, “it’s inconvenient for you to want me.”

“That’s not what I-“ Hugh reaches out, fingertips, palm, touching Mads’ lovely face, desperate for contact.

“…That’s why I need to know.” Mads leans into the touch, “That you won’t leave the same way again.”

He closes his eyes and hesitates a long moment before continuing, “I don’t think my liver is still young enough to handle that much drugs and alcohol again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ooookay so this isn't _really_ fluff, but these men are meant to be in their late 30s/40s, so their fluff is quiet affection laced with notes of hardened regret.


End file.
